


Mechanically Inclined

by Dirty_Corza



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mechanics, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Car Chases, M/M, Past Poly-relationship, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3596721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirty_Corza/pseuds/Dirty_Corza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When spy Sherlock brings his car to John Watson for a check up, he finds more than just a good mechanic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mechanically Inclined

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Random_Nexus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/gifts).



> The sex portion of this fic has gratuitous dirty talk filled with terrible car/mechanic related analogies. So, mild warning for that.

John frowned, arms crossed over his chest as he watched this “Holmes” drive his car into the shop. The poor car deserved a better handler.

“Well?” The man asked as he got out of the car, the door slamming shut behind him with a bang loud enough John winced in sympathy for the poor beautiful thing.

"You do knows cars like this are more than just toys, don’t you? You need to respect her."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “‘She’? It doesn’t have feelings, it’s a mechanical device used for transportation. However, it stopped transitioning smoothly between gears and I was told you were the best mechanic this side of the Atlantic. So here I am.”

John nearly snarled at the suited man. “A car is far more than just another piece of machinery. You have to care for it or it won’t care for you.” He stomped up to Sherlock, hands clenched in fists at his side. “And this? This is definitely a lady.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow raised skeptically. “And what gives you that idea?”

“Look at the lines on her.” John gestured at the car as he spoke. “Simple, yet fluid. And as you drove in she was just over a gentle hum, hiding the power she has under the hood.”

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes. “Mister Watson. I’m not here to discuss pet theories on why you think any car might be one gender or another even though it is clear they are things and thus it has no gender. I came here because my dear friend Mike Stamford said you were the only man he’d trust with a car from Reichenbach Motors.”

John gave a shrug, turning away from Sherlock to fully face the beautiful car. “It’s high praise, especially from Mike. He owns three of their previous concept cars. Unlike some people, he doesn’t have to see a mechanic about it only six months after making the purchase. What exactly do you do in this car?”

"I drive it. My work keeps me on the road a lot."

"So you decided ‘Oh yeah, I’ll buy a Reichenbach concept car. That’s practical’? You’re an idiot. A rich idiot, but still an idiot."  
Sherlock flinched at John’s words. “I’m not some postal worker or delivery man. I don’t have any requirements for my vehicle other than that it be comfortable for me. This car is by far the most comfortable thing I’ve ever driven.”

John shook his head, fingers drifting to trace the line of the hood. “I can imagine. Now, we can argue semantics and your intelligence or lack thereof all day, or you can tell me what’s really wrong with her. Problems switching gears? That’s a poor excuse if I’ve ever heard one, so tell me what really happened to her that you need an expert for.” John let his palms rest on the cooling metal of the car, not even glancing at the other man.

"What makes you think that was a lie?"

"She’s a Reichenbach. The only person I’ve ever known to actually use his is Mike and that’s because… he’s in a certain business, and their concept cars have added perks."

Sherlock gave a small nod. “You’re as smart as he said you were. Though, of course, my business isn’t quite the same as his. I’m not nearly so official.”

John’s lips quirked up into a small smirk. “Clearly. Just as you haven’t had the same training if someone managed to do something to an M series Reichenbach on your watch. Don’t make me ask again, what happened?”

Sherlock gave a small sigh, turning to lean against the side of the car as he watched John’s hands start to roam. “There was a bit of a chase. Thankfully, she handles like a dream, or I wouldn’t have made it out alive. However, I had to take an alternate route to get back onto the main road.”

John nodded, finger moving down the slope of the hood as he looked for the latch under the edge with his fingers. “Let’s open her up and see what I can do. Though, depending on the extent of the beating, I won’t let you leave with her until I’m done. Even if it’s something minor to fix, I’ll usually have to move something to get at it.”

Sherlock nodded, moving quickly to open the door and find the lever to pop the hood. 

"And don’t you dare slam the door, or I will keep you here for a week, mechanical reason or no."

Sherlock paused, glancing toward the front of the car where the mechanic had already lifted the hood to poke around. “You’d keep me here a week? And I was under the impression you didn’t like me.” He shut the door lightly, bumping it with his hip to be sure the latch caught completely.

John grinned, chuckling slightly as he leaned further over the engine. “A week where I could keep your unworthy hands off Mary? I could put up with the poor company for that.”

"Mary?" Sherlock scoffed, "You’re calling it Mary now?" 

John turned, the grin falling from his face. “Go inside. Mrs. H will look after you. But know this, you brought her to me, to make sure all your dangerous trips don’t kill you because of something the matter with her. Only one man knows Reichenbach’s better than I do, and last I heard he was still deployed in the Middle East. So you can put up with how I treat your car, or you can leave now and hope whatever you ran over isn’t fatal.”

Sherlock weighed his odds as he looked the man down. Army veteran, still fit, hardly any noticeable lasting effects from whatever had sent him home, and a cart with heavy tools only a few steps away. He was an eccentric, and he could afford to be one here in his workplace. Especially when he was the only man Mycroft would allow Sherlock to go to for help with this car. That he was an expert on Reichenbachs was telling enough. 

Reichenbach made armored cars, built to look and drive like high end sports cars. They had the most secure manufacturing plant on the planet. If rumors were to be believed, it was a four man operation when it started, people from different governments, deciding they wanted a change of vocation to designing something they wished they had on the job. But no one had met the minds behind Reichenbach Motors. No one had a whisper of who was behind the nigh indestructible cars, and yet here Sherlock was, staring down a man who was an expert on the intimate workings of their cars. He couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down his spine at that thought. There were only two ways to become an expert on cars like these. Be someone who built them, or someone who had been paid to take them apart. Either of those options put John Watson among the three most dangerous people Sherlock knew, and one of them was himself.

With a small nod, Sherlock turned from John toward the door that led into the house. “Mrs. H, you say? Does she have more than a letter for a name? And you’ve made your point clear, Mister Watson. I’m trusting her into your care, and trusting you to keep me alive.”

Sherlock could almost hear the smile in John’s voice as he replied. “Mrs. Hudson. She’s my… housekeeper. And thank you, Mister Holmes. I’d have hated to send her away in this condition.”

John waited until the other man was safely inside before he turned back to the engine, his brow furrowing at what he saw. This wasn’t an engine in need of a bit of cleaning, this was far worse than that. “Who did you piss off, mister Holmes?” he muttered to himself as he carefully began to work. 

His hands were gentle as they traced the pieces, following lines of piping and wires, his frown growing deeper every time he reached the end of a segment. 

\- - -

"Got told off, didn’t you?" 

Sherlock leaned against the door as he looked over the woman who had spoken to him. “Mrs. Hudson, I presume?” She was older than he had expected, at least ten years his senior if not a few more.

"That’d be me. Come in, dearie; have a cuppa. And try to remember John gets very tetchy with his Reichenbachs." She turned, clearly expecting Sherlock to follow, which he did. She led him to the kitchen where she already had two cups of tea ready.

"Just the Reichenbachs?" he asked, accepting the cup she handed him with a small nod of thanks.

"Perhaps not just the Reichenbachs… But more than any other. The Reichenbachs are the only ones he calls by name."

\- - -

John groaned as pushed himself away from the engine. His back, shoulders, and legs ached from holding himself steady as he examined the car. It had taken him hours to go over every piece, to see just what the extent of the damage was. The results were… unsettling.

He took a deep breath, taking the time to stretch out his tense, aching muscles before he headed inside. Nothing about this job was adding up right. Where the facts did lead, well, John wasn’t sure he was ready to follow.

"Mrs. Hudson?" John called as he entered the house, wiping his hands with an oil-stained rag.

"In the kitchen, dear," came the reply, followed by a smattering of laughter. John could just make out her added comment. "I told you he’d be in once dinner was ready. Our John never does fail to be perfectly punctual for meals."

"If you call getting there in time for being served, punctual, then yes, I am." John said as he entered the room, pausing to kiss Mrs. Hudson’s cheek on his way to the sink to clean his hands. "It’s an army trick, always being there in time for food."

John  could feel Sherlock’s eyes watching him as he dished up a plate for himself and sat down at the table. He expected it, really. Especially after how long he’d taken to give the car a once over. Mrs. Hudson had been with him long enough just to know when it was trouble, when whatever was going to happen in the garage wasn’t something to talk about at dinner. But this Sherlock Holmes? John doubted he’d last half the meal.

It took him less time than even John had anticipated. Barely had the second bite of food made its way to John’s mouth than Sherlock was speaking up. “Mr. Watson… I-“

John held up his hand, glad to see that it did halt the flow of words from the other man. “Sherlock,” he said once he’d finished his mouthful. “Two things. One, we should be on first name basis as you’re going to be here two weeks at least. If not you, then Mary. And two, business details always get discussed after dinner. Mrs. Hudson is too good a cook for us to let it get cold while we discus petty details.”

John watched Sherlock carefully as the man took in what he said, only going back to his meal once Sherlock gave a nod and went back to his own.

John took his time eating, seemingly ignoring the speed with which Sherlock devoured his food. The man didn’t have an ounce of patience on him, that much was clear. But his desire to get to business aside, John couldn’t really say he knew anything about the man. Perhaps he was a bit brash, certainly seemed to have little care for the well being of himself or others. 

Once again, John was grateful to Mrs. Hudson for her help in these matters. John needed time to think, time to figure out how he was going to talk to Sherlock about the state of Mary, and -more importantly- why he cared so much that this Sherlock was kept safe. So, of course, to buy John time, Mrs. Hudson had refilled Sherlock’s plate. Her clever way of offering while really insisting had broken stronger men than the one sitting across from John today. And men in less need of a bit of fat on their bones, too, John thought.

He pushed away that line of thought, staring down at his last few bites of food. The length of a meal, that was all the time John would ever give himself to think things over one last time. He wasn’t ready, but then again, he never was. Most of his thinking was done in the garage, anyway. The meal was a formality, a time where John could ready his nerves for whatever conversation was to come. Tonight’s conversation, well… John’s nerves had needed all the time they could get.

John took his last bite, pretending he couldn’t see the eager anticipation on the face of the man across from him. It was only after he cleared his spot at the table that he met Sherlock’s eye, giving him a nod before leading the way out of the room. He didn’t look to see if Sherlock had followed him, John could hear him well enough to know he didn’t have to. 

John led the way into his study, taking a seat on his desk and gesturing at the chairs in front of it. “Please, have a seat,” he said, his first words since the start of the meal.

"Mister- John, that is," Sherlock spoke as he sat down, a frown clear on his face, "What is wrong with the car?"

John shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “No. We aren’t starting with the problems. They’re straightforward enough, and though it will take me time to fix, we have bigger issues than what was done to that car. Such as what you are doing in possession of her. Namely, who gave her to you. Because I know you didn’t buy her yourself. Which means someone spent months putting together the death trap under the hood as a present for you. Before I fix that, I need to know who it was that wants you dead.”

It was fascinating watching the thoughts flicker over Sherlock’s face. Not that John had any idea what they were, of course, but brows furrowed, eyes widened, lips parted, all in rapid succession. Finally, though, pale blue eyes met John’s dark ones, and Sherlock spoke. “You know the manufacturers.” He spoke quietly, but firmly, the words flowing off his tongue. It sounded to John more as if he had to rush to say them before they were lost. “Well enough you must have been able to place a call to them while looking over the engine. There’s no other way you could know I hadn’t purchased that car from Reichenbach Motors myself. As to who gave the car to me, I was on an undercover mission. My employers were giving it to me as a gift, and sent me on a mission back to England. There was no chase, for the record. As I’m sure you know now, after two hours with it- her. It is supposed to be dangerous, though. And the special features of the car were meant to be used.”

"And that would have killed you." John interrupted, shifting to lean back on the desk. "Which means they bought this car as a murder weapon. I repeat, who was it? Reichenbach cars can be used as weapons, but anyone rebuilding one to self destruct…" He shook his head. "I need to let my connections know who did that. Because if your car had managed to kill you, it would have been their name smeared. This was as much an attack on you as on Reichenbach."

"I was infiltrating the yardies. They’ve gained a lot of money in recent years."

John frowned, “They’re based in the UK aren’t they? But, ‘back to England’, that says you weren’t working for them locally.”

Sherlock gave a small nod, an equally small smile playing at the edges of his lips. “You’re smarter at more than just cars, John Watson. You’ve surprised me. And true, they got their start in the UK, but they’ve been dabbling in heists elsewhere in Europe, trying to gain more power than they could on this island. Succeeding too, which is why Mike asked me to take this on personally. The government would rather they stuck to their own turf, rather than going outside their reach.”

"I’ve been a doctor, a mechanic, and an army Captain. I should hope I know more than just cars." John returned the smile, hoping the worry was kept off his features. "As for the car, like I said, two weeks, and the car will function as it’s supposed to. It’s not damaged, per se, just rewired to kill you if you use any of the defensive capabilities."

"Any of them?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 

John nodded again, “Even the smoke bombs. And I’m reasonably certain they had a way of remotely triggering it to happen, if you didn’t do it yourself.”

"Had?"

John let his smile grow to a grin. “They’ll hardly have a way once I’m finished with it. And my garage is as secure as you can get against unwanted signals.”

That got a laugh from Sherlock. “I’m lucky Mike insisted I come see you, aren’t I, John.”

John couldn’t stop himself from answering that with a wink. “I think you might be very lucky indeed.” With that, he hopped down from the desk, stretching and giving a half-faked yawn. “But now, it’s time for bed. Mrs. Hudson will show you to your room. If it isn’t to your liking, she’ll help find you somewhere else to stay until the car is finished.”

"Thank you." Sherlock’s words were soft, John barely heard them as he headed for the door.

He paused, turning to face the still seated dark haired man. He couldn’t think of anything to say to that, though. He was just doing his job. For the price he was being paid to work on the car, a room was the least he could offer. But he had a feeling it wasn’t for any of that that this man was thanking him. And that was something he couldn’t afford to dwell on, not with two weeks of rebuilding an engine -and possibly more- to look forward to. With one last nod, he headed off to bed.

\- - -

The one thing Sherlock hadn’t thought about when John proposed he stay with him for the next two weeks was boredom. He couldn’t risk getting in touch with his contacts in the yardies, he still hadn’t formulated a plan on how to deal with them now his cover was blown. And getting in touch with Mike was a less than appetizing option. Which left him with John’s study at his disposal, an expected mix of medical and mechanic journals, a few novels, and absolutely nothing interesting in the desk drawers.

It took him two days to grow bored of searching through the journals for John’s personal annotations. Another day spent with Mrs. Hudson helped build up the courage to follow John out to the garage on day four. That was the extent of Sherlock’s plan, to watch John work, to observe the man who had managed to surprise him. 

He tried to sneak into the garage, quietly slipping through the door only to find John waiting for him, leaning against the car as if he was waiting for Sherlock to come in.

"How much do you know about mechanics’ tools?" John said without preamble, pointing to where his toolbox sat open.

Sherlock glanced at it before shaking his head, a blush coming to his cheeks. “I don’t know anything about them.” He almost missed the way John’s lips had to fight a smile at that, the mechanic biting his bottom lip to keep his face in check.

"I only allow people to watch me work if they can, at the very least, hand me tools. There’s a manual in the study, with notes on which ones I own. Next time I see you in here, if Mary isn’t finished, I want you to have the list memorized. When you can show me you can identify them, I’ll let you watch me work."

Sherlock nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. John had surprised him again, and he should have seen something like this coming, but he hadn’t. With one last look into John’s eyes, he turned, trying to stay composed as he went back into the house, hardly acknowledging Mrs. Hudson as he made his way to the study to find the desired manual.

John watched Sherlock head back into the house with a sigh of relief. He hadn’t expected that to work, not that he’d mind the extra set of hands. He’d heard about the search of the study, and the terribly difficult to keep on track conversation. Another day or two, and John was sure Sherlock would have decided the bedrooms needed a thorough going over, and he couldn’t afford that.

Security wasn’t the only reason he wanted Sherlock to help him, though. Reichenbach wanted him to use Sherlock to get a message to the yardies, a warning not to try and use their cars for dirty work again. To do that, though, John needed to know what Sherlock’s agenda for them had been, and plan accordingly. Sherlock had given him a reason to start the conversation, and a safe place to bring it up.

Now he just had to keep Sherlock from realizing how deep into all this John was. Having an agent know he had a Reichenbach contact was one thing. Having an agent know he was part of Reichenbach itself? It would be just asking for someone to decide he ought to be more forthcoming with information about the cars. Information John was loath to give.

\- - -

_Sherlock swallowed hard as he was pushed into the vehicle. John was handling him as if he were just another piece of equipment, trousers and pants around his ankles, arms behind his head, Sherlock’s cock quickly slicked up as John’s own lower garments fell to the garage floor._

_"Aren’t you such an eager boy." John said with a chuckle, leaning in to give Sherlock a quick kiss. All too soon his lips were gone, but before Sherlock had a chance to protest, John was climbing onto his lap._

_Sherlock hadn’t expected there to be enough room for them both on the seat, but it seemed that there was plenty now. Plenty, his mind amended as John moved to sink down on his cock, if they were very, very close. He groaned at the feel of the tight heat enveloping him, hands clasped together behind the seat in an effort not to touch. John had put Sherlock’s hands behind him for a reason, and he didn’t dare move them before the mechanic gave him leave to._

_"So eager and so good for me." John whispered the words into Sherlock’s ear, groaning as he rocked himself on Sherlock’s hard cock, teasing him with hints of friction. "Such a hard cock you have. I know you’ve been watching me as I work on Mary. I bet you’ve imagined fucking me over the hood dozens of times." John tisked, pausing the stream of words to give Sherlock’s neck a firm bite as he rocked hard on his cock._

_"I hate to break it to you, though. That’s not going to happen. Because I like you far too much like this. Hard, aching beneath me. And everything is under my control. I control how fast you fuck me. You can’t move enough to change it if you tried." John groaned into the dark curls as he began to move with more purpose. "You love it, too, how helpless you are right now. Your cock got harder when I said that, I could feel it. It’s delicious."_

_Sherlock moaned, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought against the ties on his wrists. He wanted more, he wanted to touch, to pull John closer„ if only to have those chapped lips against his own again. “Please, John, please.”_

_"What is it you want, love?" John whispered the words as he dragged his lips across Sherlock’s cheek._

_"K-kiss me, please." Sherlock begged, his breath caught in his throat._

_John’s lips were soft at first, teasing Sherlock until the younger man gave a choked sob. Then, the kiss changed, a heated clash of lips and teeth, John’s hands tugging at Sherlock’s hair. It brought him to the brink, the heat of the kiss while John continued to rock on his cock._

_"Sherlock. Come now." The order was unexpected, but Sherlock found himself unable to resist. With a shout of John’s name he was coming._

Sherlock woke up panting, his voice hoarse and his pants a mess. Just a dream, he told himself, trying to ignore the sense of disappointment in the back of his mind. Instead, he focused on the blessings that were the bathroom that connected straight to his room and the excellent soundproofing John had in his house. Soundproofing, and a lack of recording devices, the two things that kept Sherlock here instead of going to the safe-house Mike had offered him. So long as John didn’t discover his dreams, there would be no problem living and working with the man.

\- - -

Sherlock left three hours ahead of schedule, a fact that rankled John for no real explainable reason. Sherlock hadn’t known about John’s secret plans to follow him, what with them being secret plans and all. And he had actually left a note explaining why- a three AM phone call from his contact moving the meeting ahead of schedule. 

It wasn’t even that John had needed to tail Sherlock to follow him, he had installed a special GPS into the car with the other repairs for just this reason.

No, what got John so bothered about it all had much more to do with the fact he had wanted to say goodbye. To wish him luck. To share a pre-dawn breakfast and pretend this wasn’t the last day with Sherlock’s company in his home.

He hadn’t been able to have any of that, though. Instead, he’d woken up to a house already devoid of Sherlock. Two phone calls later, and he’d been on the road in his own Reichenbach car, hoping Sherlock hadn’t gotten into too much trouble yet.

\- - -

Things were not going according to plan. Sherlock glanced in his rear-view mirror again, cursing under his breath as he saw that the car driven by his yardie contact had drawn even closer to him in the thick of traffic. There was no chance of just slipping away now, not without using some of the “defensive capabilities” Mary had. Which were a bit too offensive for the crowded tunnel he was headed into. 

The meeting with his contact had been fine. Even the first few miles of the drive away had gone smoothly, the goods secured in his car, the rendezvous location for exchange set up. Now, though, he had seen at least four cars with drivers he recognized from Mike’s reconnaissance. And they were surrounding him, slowly but surely. 

He looked ahead again, they were just about entering the tunnel, and- most of the other cars had managed to disappear. Sherlock swallowed tightly, his hands reflexively gripping the steering wheel tighter, but only for a moment. John had done all the work on Mary. John had promised him she’d keep him safe. John had even promised him one last dinner after this was done, a time to say goodbye when Mike came for both Sherlock and the car.He fixed that thought firmly in his mind as he headed into what could only be a trap. 

\- - -

John grimaced. He had hoped not to make too much of a scene in following Sherlock, but the hastily brought up road block before the tunnel was impossible to get around, even with the three others giving him advice on alternative routes to the site. Sure, the great minds behind Reichenbach knew almost every hidden byway in London, but that didn’t mean they could get in anywhere they wanted. 

"Go on, John. S is ready to give a distraction, and M is ready if you need her." James’ voice was calm over the com in John’s ear, and just a bit teasing, "Has it been too long since you last got behind the wheel for more than just a test run? I think even I get more action than you these days."

John rolled his eyes, even knowing James couldn’t see him. “I was in a war. I’ve seen more life-or-death action than the three of you combined. What’s Mary’s status? Any warning signs yet?” He steadily made his way toward the barrier, glad that traffic around him was at a snails pace as everyone heading to their morning jobs had to try and get off the highway all at once.  
"Things seem to be heating up in there. Smoke bombs, not hers, have been deployed, but according to the readouts, everything is fine inside. Your new little friend should be just fine."

"Right. I’m headed in." John thumbed off his mic as he stepped on the gas. The flimsy wooded barrier never stood a chance against the reinforced steel of his car. Their were a myriad of shouts and gunfire behind him, and a snicker over his com that meant the distraction was going well. The yardies had wanted to use a Reichenbach car to send a message, well, a message was certainly going to be sent.

Suddenly, the tunnel went dark around him, five sets of dim red lights ahead of him the only illumination, though those were fuzzy with smoke.

"They’re talking, something about a bomb. It should have gone off by now, lord, they sound angry, John. Good work spotting that one. Mary’s lights are going to flash in three, two-" James let his voice drift off as John saw one pair of lights ahead of him flicker. That was all he needed and his fingers went to the triggers behind the steering wheel.

There was a reason the W series was the only Reichenbach car only shown at special events, a reason why it was the only line with only one existing model at any time. He was their only assault vehicle, and John’s pride and joy. Another thirty seconds and he was reversing out of the tunnel, only one car left running besides his Watson.

"Oh John. That was beautiful." M’s voice came over the speaker, a pleased hum.

"You couldn’t even see it, darling." John couldn’t stop the grin from spreading over his face as he hurried to get away from the easily monitored London streets.

"I hardly need to see it to know I wish I could have been there beside you. You handle Watson so well. And I’ll bet you managed to leave my Mary without a scratch on her."

"She’s not your Mary anymore, not entirely." John laughed, speeding down a rural highway. "But I hope so. I really do. I’ve got a dinner date with the current handler."

"Dinner date? Oh John, you know this means we have to meet him. Especially if he already has a Reichenbach. And a Mary at that. Shows he has good taste."

"We’ll see, M. But don’t get your hopes up. He’s a secret agent. Government. English government, at that. And you know how far you can trust the English government."

"I think meeting him sounds wonderful. Especially as he’s also headed back to your place already. That boy knows where to park his car, and he clearly isn’t heading in to give a report to some fancy suit."

That got John’s heart beating just a little bit faster. “You sure he’s headed back to my place?”

"He’s mumbling something about the only possible explanation for his rescue being someone who had years of experience behind the wheels of a vehicle, and intimate knowledge of a Reichenbach, and then he just groaned your name and we’ll be over for dinner in a week. College roommate get together. He sounds wonderful."

"Oi!" John could feel his face flushing as James talked. "I’ll agree to dinner, but, please, behave yourself, James. If he’s still here in a week, well, it will still be too new for any of that."

"Always keeping the good ones to yourself. It’s not fair."

"Is this about Bill? I was on deployment, it’s hardly my fault I couldn’t share."

That got a laugh from M. “He’s right, James, for once. That wasn’t his fault. Now we should let him go. S needs help with clean up in town and John has dinner plans to make. In a week, love.”

"Ta-ta!"

"In a week." John took a deep breath, slowly letting Watson slow to a reasonable speed. There were a million what-ifs going through his mind, and he needed to get a few things cleared away in there before seeing Sherlock face to face again.

\- - -

Sherlock pulled into John’s driveway carefully, much more carefully than he had the first time, just two short weeks ago. “You know cars are more than just toys, right?” He could hear the words clearly in his head, an echo of where all this had begun.   
All this? There was a skeptical tone to the new voice in his head. There is no “all this”. He likes working on cars. He hasn’t even flirted with you. The occasional wink or leading comment doesn’t mean this dinner is going to be anything other than a way to ask you about Mary’s performance.

He shook his head to rid himself of that train of thought. Did it really matter if John meant for this to be just a meal between them? Well, it would depend on what you meant by matter. Would it change anything? Yes, probably. But today had changed things already, and Sherlock wasn’t convinced the pessimistic voice in his head was looking at all the facts. Like the way his lights had flickered, just for a moment, an instant, and just in the nick of time for a mysterious someone to rescue him. 

A mysterious someone who Mike hadn’t been able to keep an eye on for more than three blocks before cameras were inexplicably looking a different direction. All Sherlock had been able to find out from him was that they had been driving an unreleased Reichenbach model. One that had never been on sale. Well, all Sherlock had been able to find out about his rescuer. Mike had also informed him, repeatedly, about how this would be the last mission he’d ever give Sherlock if he didn’t turn his car around and come in to HQ and give his report.

Needless to say, Sherlock had kept driving until he was at John’s place, sitting in the driveway, hands still clutching the steering wheel tightly as he came to fully understand that he had no idea what to do now.

Luckily for him, he didn’t have to decide. Someone was opening the garage door and waving Sherlock in. John. Standing by his tool chest, a grin on his flushed face as he watched Sherlock park and get out of the car.

"Much better than last time, Mister Holmes. Treating her with proper respect. But I didn’t expect you to be back so soon."

Sherlock couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. “Turns out you’re much more interesting than sitting in Mike’s office waiting for the chance to get away to come to dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”

That got Sherlock a laugh, a wonderful, beautiful laugh, from John. “I don’t mind at all.” John looked Sherlock over, head to toe, licking his lips. “But you look like you could use a cuppa. Come on inside.” John took a step toward the door, holding one hand out to Sherlock.

Sherlock felt his own face flush at that as he stepped forward to take John’s hand. It was a very deliberate touch, this. They hadn’t even shaken hands when they met. Every contact had been brief, stolen touches while tools were handed to or from the mechanic as he worked on the car. Sherlock swallowed hard as John gave his hand a squeeze. He could feel every callous from the tools, the way John’s hand was worn from his work. 

"Are you okay with this not being just a friendly dinner?" John asked as he led them into the house, licking his lips in a very distracting way that didn’t help Sherlock formulate an answer.

"Oh, god, yes." He finally managed, then John was backing him against the door, intent clear, and it was all Sherlock could do to gasp out a "Please, John," in the hopes John would do just what he did, pressing up against him, pressing their lips together in a firm kiss.

John pulled back, licking his lips, eyes wide as he looked Sherlock from head to toe. “Already begging for it, christ, and I thought I’d have to convince you.”

"That first day, in your office. You had me convinced then."

John paused, leaning in close to Sherlock again, his breath hot against his throat. “No, I didn’t. But the day you came to help me with the car, you were staring at my arse the entire time. I bet you think your stick can shift my gears, don’t you.” John closed the distance with his last word, pressing open mouthed, sloppy kisses to the pale expanse of Sherlock’s skin. He could taste the sweat there, and a hint of leather. God, he didn’t even care how messy he was getting, the way Sherlock’s shirt collar was becoming damp from his enthusiasm.

Sherlock groaned, head falling back against the door with a thud. “That was-” his words were cut off with a moan, his body arching against John’s, desperate for more contact. “Christ, John, that was terrible.” That got John to focus, got him to bite down and mark Sherlock’s neck and oh, that was perfect. His hands finally caught on to this, being allowed to touch, moving to John’s hips, gripping tightly when John’s tangled in his dark curls.

"No. Terrible is asking if you want a quick lube job or the full twenty point inspection." John grinned into damp, reddened skin. "Or maybe it’s asking if I can run a diagnostic on your sculpted rear end."

"Those-" Sherlock groaned again, pressing his hips insistently against John’s, "those should not be turning me on. They’re ridiculous, juvenile-"

"Absurd, I know. But when I talk about testing your suspension, you can see it, can’t you? Being on your knees while I spread you open, see just how much you can take before falling to the mattress- or the floor."

"Fuck." Sherlock couldn’t think beyond that, couldn’t speak past it for the life of him. It had to be John’s voice making his knees weak, his tone that had Sherlock wanting to fall to his knees and beg for it. 

"Come on, let’s go to my private garage." John was smirking as he slowly backed away from Sherlock, his hands moving to Sherlock’s shoulders, giving a squeeze and then dropping to grab his hands. "You’re in for one hell of a ride."

Sherlock swallowed hard, pushing away from the door with effort. “Do I get to take the driver’s seat, then? Show you just how well I can handle a stick shift with no hands?” It was worth it, the painful analogy, for the way John’s pupils grew even wider, the way his hands gave an involuntary squeeze. 

"Maybe. You just might. But I still want to test your suspension first." John turned, letting Sherlock’s hands fall as he led the way to his bedroom. It was all Sherlock could do to follow, his mouth dry as he wondered what exactly John meant by that.

"Come on," John said as he opened the door to his room, gesturing for Sherlock to go in first. "I think we should start with getting all that unnecessary material out of the way." He shut the door behind them with his hip, his hands already reaching for the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt.

Sherlock nodded in agreement, breathing heavily as he watched John’s hands deftly undo his shirt. John’s hands, he noted, were as steady as ever, not a hint in them at the level of arousal Sherlock could tell he was feeling. “You’ve done this before. Car chase, then sex.”

That got a laugh from John; a laugh and a forceful tug on the now open shirt to bring Sherlock in close for a gloriously messy kiss. It was a heady experience, the bruising pressure of lips and teeth against his own, the way the shirt was tugged down his arms to where he could barely move them. He didn’t even notice that John was steering them towards the bed until he felt his feet slip on the edge of the comforter and he was falling back, arms still trapped in his shirt, his trousers far too tight against his erection. And wasn’t that something, the way the feel of John had put it out of his mind, but now that his only contact with John was a lustful gaze, his body was rapidly filling him in on the details he’d missed.

"How’d you know it was me?" John kept his eyes on Sherlock as he began to undress himself, t-shirt pulled off in one fluid motion baring his chest to Sherlock’s eager gaze.

"For my lights to flash, someone had to have done something to the wiring, and no one else had the chance. Or the motive to keep me safe, as you’re proving now. If it were just Reichenbach acting on a tip off, they wouldn’t have cared about the driver. They were sending a message, and blowing up the car with me in it would have been a bit clearer." 

John’s fingers stilled on his belt buckle, “That still doesn’t explain why you think I was there. It makes just as much sense that I told them I wanted you to come out alive and well.”

Sherlock shook his head, arching his back off the bed as he tried to tug the shirt off his wrists without sitting up. “Not you, John. I wasn’t allowed to touch Mary until you were done. I could have done a number of things, with your careful instruction, but you’re too possessive for that. You claim someone, and you don’t risk them to anyone else. You wouldn’t just sit back and let someone else take my life in their hands. What if they missed?”

Sherlock was answered with John’s laughter again. He was really enjoying eliciting that response, especially when it was paired with a belt dropping to the floor and the top two buttons of John’s jeans being undone. “Two weeks, is that all it took for you to know me so well?” John pushed the jeans down his hips, leaving himself in just his pants. Pants, Sherlock noted, that were doing nothing to hide the substantial erection held within. Though, to be fair, with an erection that substantial it would take much more than one thin layer of cotton to hide it. Even the jeans hadn’t been able to do that in the slightest.

"Two weeks and I’ve hardly scratched the surface, John." Sherlock finally had his hands free, though once they started on his belt he realized he still had his shoes on. But John hadn’t been wearing his. "You knew, you knew that dinner wouldn’t just be-"

"I didn’t know. I hoped, christ how I hoped, especially with the way James-"

"When I talked through who it could have been. Someone heard me, and told you."

John nodded, busying his fingers with untying the laces to Sherlock’s oxfords.

"Did they tell you how I said your name when I finally worked it out?"

John’s cheeks flushed as he nodded again, his fingers fumbling for the first time since he had reached for Sherlock’s hand.

"Oh." Sherlock’s voice trailed off as he propped himself up on his elbows to watch John’s hands better. "And before then, did you hope?"

"Of course I did." John removed the shoes with ease, his lack of coordination apparently temporary. Then he removed Sherlock’s socks, letting his fingers linger on the soft, pale skin in a way that made Sherlock moan. "I wouldn’t have invited you back for dinner tonight if I hadn’t hoped."

"John." Sherlock reached out to the other man, his voice and open hand asking for more. More contact, more touching, less talk, but more lips. Somehow John seemed to read all that in a gesture and name, because John’s hands were moving to Sherlock’s belt and trousers, not bothering to remove the belt before urging the fabric down Sherlock’s hips so he could lean down and inhale Sherlock’s scent through the man’s clearly expensive pants.

"This is going to be over far too soon, Sherlock, god. I’ve gone from zero to sixty and I know I won’t be able to stop once we start, is that okay?"

Sherlock’s breath came out in a rush. “Yes, John. Anything, more, please.”

"Next time," John spoke as he moved up Sherlock’s body, the words muffled by skin he was loath to lose contact with, "next time, the full twenty point inspection. I wish I could do it now, but-"

"John." Sherlock groaned, growing impatient as he did his best to tug John up faster, to get him fully between his legs where he could feel John’s hard, hot member against his own. "Sometimes you’ve got to do a quick lube job first, to get the car to the mechanic in the first place. Now, please, kiss me like you’ve fucked me seven ways from Sunday."

John groaned in reply, his lips meeting Sherlock’s eagerly, moaning when he found Sherlock’s mouth pliant beneath his. “As you wish,” John murmured in reply, his lips then meeting Sherlock’s with unexpected gentleness not matched by the forceful rocking of his hips. 

"Oh." Sherlock’s eyes grew wide as John rocked against him, each firm thrust bringing him closer to the edge while John’s lips were just the hint of a presence against his own, drinking in his gasps and moans. "John, John.”

"Is this what you wanted, Sherlock?" John rolled his hips with a groan. "Are you imagining what it’d feel like, doing this after being fucked, after we’ve both come, and -christ- do you have any idea how good that feels?" John shuddered against him, his breath coming in a stutter that matched the movement of his hips. 

"More, John, I need-" Sherlock gasped, hands moving to tangle in John’s hair, to hold him close as Sherlock took control of the kiss. He could feel John’s smirk beneath his lips, the almost inaudible laughter as John’s hips rolled against his, each forceful thrust bringing them closer to the edge. "Now, John, please." Sherlock punctuated the words with bruising kisses along John’s jaw. Two more hard thrusts had John’s hips stilling against his, and the dampness Sherlock could feel spreading between them sent him over the edge only moments after. 

\- - -

“Sherlock. I told you my college mates were coming over for dinner, right?”

Sherlock glanced over at John from where he was trying to put together an old transmission. “Yes. But that isn’t until tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s just…” John bit his lip, not quite able to meet Sherlock’s eye. “I might not have been one-hundred-percent honest about why they’re coming over.”

Sherlock grinned as he turned back to the engine piece he was working on. “Well, I was suspicious about the timing. Which means it’s probably related to the fact you’ve got a new boyfriend.”

“One week was all I could convince them to let me have with you alone.”

That got Sherlock to turn around completely, parts and tools abandoned on the table behind him. “Alone with- They plan to flirt with me?” Sherlock’s face was a picture of confusion. “They plan to make advances purely because I’m with you, whether they’re serious or otherwise. Which means-”

“Which means they have a history with me. Or rather, we have a history with each other, Mary, James, Sebastian, and I. And I know I should have been up front with you about it, but-”

“But this is only the second day we’ve had together since Mike came for me, and yesterday was spent taking care of things on Mary since we get to keep her. And you hardly had time before to tell me about the dinner, at all.” Absentmindedly, Sherlock wiped his grease covered hands off on the front of his shirt. “You shouldn’t be worried, John. I don’t think less of you for exploring your sexuality. I have a feeling I should be thanking these college roommates of yours.”

John couldn’t keep the grin from spreading over his face at that. “You probably should. They taught me an awful lot about engines, after all…”

Sherlock grinned, stepping forward to take John’s face in his hands and guide his lips up for a teasing kiss. “And I certainly can’t complain about the fact you have very practiced hands.”

**Author's Note:**

> This all started with Random_Nexus asking for a Mechanic-John-Watson story, and my first two sentences just weren't enough. So you can thank her for the epic this turned out to be. :)


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